


Me and My Ghosts

by tinsnip



Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Banter, Deep Dish Nine, Ferengi culture, Friendship, Gen, Mutual irritation, Trill culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:50:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quark and Jadzia Dax take a little road trip. Nothing serious. Just a business transaction. Why Jadzia's going, she has no idea... but Quark seems to think she'll be useful, and what the hell, she's got nothing else to do.</p><p>Just two people who like each other interacting and being doofs. </p><p>Set in the alternate universe of Deep Dish Nine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Me and My Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Vulcan vocab from [the Vulcan Language Dictionary.](http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/)
> 
> Ferengi vocab from my head.
> 
> Rules of Acquisition sourced from [here.](http://www.treknologic.com/forum/index.php?topic=418.0)

It’s going to be a beautiful day. Eventually.

The sun’s already beating down. It’s only about eight in the morning; shouldn’t it be lower down or something? Mornings aren’t something she’s very familiar with, and she’s too groggy to really embrace the novelty of this one. The coffee’s helping a little, but God, this is not how she’d planned on starting her weekend. Even Tobin’s a bit pissy about it.

“Why did I agree to do this, again?”

“Because I asked you nicely.”

She rolls her eyes, makes a rude noise with her lips.

“Hey. Did I, or did I not bring you coffee?”

She sighs, looks over at the big-eared little man in the driver’s seat, frowning at the road. “You did.”

“And not only is it coffee, it’s from your favourite coffee shop. Which is ten minutes down the road. Which means I, very kindly, got up earlier than you to get you the damn coffee. Right?”

She presses her lips together, nods. “Right...” The thought of _early_ reminds her that she could use a bit more caffeine; she slurps at Nebula’s finest, sighs again at how it scalds her tongue. “Sorry. Thanks.”

Quark half-smiles, keeping his eyes on the road. “Don’t worry about it. You think I like getting up this early? I was at the bar until three in the morning.”

She makes a face. “Why did we have to get up so early to do this, anyway?”

“Because if this pans out, I can bring the table back with me and Rom can have it installed in the bar by the time we open.”

“You that desperate for another tongo table?”

He frowns a little, sighs in mock despair. “You weren’t there last night. You didn’t see. All those people, dying for a chance at my tables... and there weren’t enough tables for everyone who wanted to play.” Deep-set eyes roll up to the heavens, filled with pathos. “Jadzia, it was a modern tragedy.”

She looks at him for a second, then pokes him in the arm. Hard.

“Ow!”

“You’re such a goof.” She’s grinning.

He’s grinning too. “If you say so. But hey, if I’m pulling in enough business to overflow the tables, it’s time for a new table.”

“You could’ve slept in a little, at least.”

“Rule of Acquisition number one-oh-three: sleep can interfere with—”

“Yeah, yeah...” She’s laughing, and she looks out at the road, takes another slug of her coffee. Which is, actually, really fucking good coffee, and she smacks her lips happily, hears contented murmuring in her mind.

“I don’t know how you drink that stuff.”

She looks over at him, grins, “Like this,” and she pantomimes an obnoxious slurp—

“Yeah, yeah.” He’s smiling as he changes lanes, heads for the on-ramp. “Give me a slug juice any day.”

“You can have it.” _Oh, don’t we—_ wonders Audrid, and _no, we tried it once,_ says Emony, _we really didn’t like it,_ and Curzon niggles, _but don’t we love Ferengi now?,_ and Jadzia grins and says, “As much as I like Ferengi, I am never going to drink squeezed slug.”

“Your loss...” Quark frowns at the road, checks the rear-view. “Where are all these people going this early in the morning?”

“Maybe they’re going to do fun things. Unlike us.”

“What, spending time with me isn’t fun? You’re killing me, Jadzia.”

“Aww, Quark...” She reaches out, pats his arm. “I cherish every second.”

“That’s more like it.” He preens a little, and she grins, looks out the window. Desert is rolling by, the occasional cactus or grey-green scrubby bush dotting the landscape. The sky is gorgeously blue and huge, hanging over them, with little wispy clouds drifting along here and there. _How beautiful,_ sighs Lela, and she tilts her head, appreciating. If she’s got to be somewhere besides bed at eight-something in the morning, at least it’s somewhere pretty. She leans an arm on the armrest, watches how bits of sun, through the tiny clouds, dapple her freckles.

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“The guy’s warehouse. It’s out this way, off the main roads, I guess...”

“Yeah, but _where?_ How far?”

“Mmm... an hour?”

“An _hour?”_

He looks over at her. “What, got big plans?”

Good point. She shrugs. “Guess not. And nothing beats hanging out with you, anyway.” She bats her eyes; he raises his sparse eyebrows at her, amused.

“I’m glad to see you’ve finally realized that.”

“Well, almost nothing.”

“What?” His voice spirals up in mock-rage. “Tell me what’s more fun than me!”

“Worf.”

“Oh, God.”

“He’s a _lot_ of fun.”

“I don’t— You know, I really _don’t_ want to know the details.”

“Wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

He shoots her a look. “Jadzia, you can’t keep your mouth shut about anything.”

She frowns, a bit offended. “Can so!”

“Oh, yeah?” Quark’s expression is considering. “Remind me again how Kira’s love life is going?”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Well, thank God for that, because believe me,” and he’s laughing, “if Kira had any idea I knew as much about her sex life as I do, she’d hunt me down and string me up. And you next to me.”

She shrugs, unrepentant. “She’s happy. People should know that she’s happy.”

“You can say that someone’s happy without describing every little detail of _why_.”

“Yeah, but what fun would that be?” She stretches in her seat, the seatbelt sliding against her shirt; Emony loves it, _feels so good to stretch._ “Besides, you like to gossip just as much as I do.”

“Never said I didn’t.” He grins over at her, snaggle-toothed, and she grins back.

It _is_ a nice day, a good day for a road trip, for going somewhere new. The cargo van is a bit on the well-used side, but the seat is comfortable, lots of room; for once she’s not banging her head on the ceiling, for once she can really stretch her legs out. In fact... _Yeah, go for it!_ laughs Torias, and so she kicks her sandals off, leans back, rests her feet on the dashboard. She wiggles her toes, checking out how her nail polish is holding up. Audrid likes pink. Jadzia can take it or leave it, but she’s got to admit it does look cute.

“Hey, hey, what kind of establishment do you think this is?” Quark’s teasing her.

“Thought you liked your women naked.”

“Oh, well, that changes everything – what’s coming off next? Can I help?” He wiggles his fingers at her; she smacks his hand.

“In your dreams.”

“You have no idea.”

“Eww, Quark. Remind me again why I like you?”

“Hmm.” He ponders. “I think it’s the smile.” Once again the charming display of Ferengi dental work, or lack thereof, and she can’t help but grin back. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is the smile. _Different strokes,_ sighs Emony, and Curzon flashes up an image of a few Klingon smiles he really liked, and she giggles at the juxtaposition.

The traffic’s moving well, and moving much faster than they are; Quark’s a pretty conservative driver, keeping mostly to the right lane. It’s kind of boring. “You know, you can actually exceed the speed limit. They won’t pull you over for going a _little_ faster.”

“I’m not taking any advice from the woman with three speeding tickets in one year.”

Oh, well – “I’m a good driver!” _And it’s fun to go fast,_ sighs Torias happily, and Jadzia nods firmly, one-hundred-percent with him on that.

“You’re a _terrifying_ driver.”

“I’ve never been in a single accident.” _Oh, but,_ says Torias, suddenly much less happy, and Lela soothes him, _shhh..._

“Because everyone gets out of the way.” She opens her mouth to protest again and he looks over at her, brows up. “No. You are not driving. I am driving. Just sit there and be ornamental.”

 _Hmph._ She crosses her arms, not really all that put out but feeling like she should make some kind of token protest. “In jeans and a tee-shirt?”

“Beats the hell out of that pizza uniform.” He grins at the image, and she nods ruefully.

“Yeah... but Benjamin really likes the baseball thing, I mean...” She shrugs, _what can I say?_

He’s not convinced. “It’s so _ugly,_ though.”

“Says the man in the loudest shirt I have ever seen. God, what is that pattern, anyway? Are those bugs?”

Quark tilts his chin up proudly. “Very common pattern in Ferenginar. Traditional. Not usually as nice as this, though. This is Kraussian silk.” The last two words drip with pleasure, with _mine,_ and she smiles.

“Too bad. Poor little worms worked so hard to make that fabric, and then somebody throws up all over it—”

“Hey!” He frowns at her, and she grins at him. “This cost a lot of money!”

“Oh, and so that makes it pretty?”

“You know damn well it does. Hell, if we were in Ferenginar, I’d’ve left the price tag on.” He nods decisively, checks his mirror, signals and swings out to pass a slow-moving truck; she checks her blind spot reflexively. They’re good.

She watches the traffic moving, cars and trucks weaving back and forth to pass each other, to keep up, spaces opening and closing in the flow. Torias analyzes it all, thinking about how he’d zip through it; Audrid sees patterns flowing, changing. Curzon notes, with amusement, that the blue car with the Vulcan plates has been trying to pass that camper van for about three kilometres now – _might just see some emotion!_ – and Jadzia laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“Sorry. Curzon.”

“Ah. Right. The dead guy.”

“One of them.”

“And... which one is he?” Quark’s voice is calm, curious. A bit too much so. _Poor Quark,_ coos Torias, _we make him antsy, do we?_

“I actually knew Curzon. When he was alive, I mean. He was a family friend.”

“Bounced you on his knee, huh?” In her mind, there’s a lascivious chuckle; _hush, you!_

“More or less. I was pretty young. Oh,” and she lifts a finger, “but he and Benjamin knew each other too!” _Did we ever,_ grins Curzon, and she has to think sternly at him, because he’s trying to crack her up with Benjamin and the dancer from Pelios Station, and oh, God, the look on his face—

“Really?” That gets a look of surprise from Quark. “How’d they know each other?”

She pushes down the giggles, clears her throat. “Mmm... they go back a ways. Before the pizza place.”

“Obviously, since I never met the guy.”

“Oh, and you would’ve; Curzon would have adored your bar.” And there’s a chuckle in her mind, _the dabo girls alone—!_

“And now he’s dead.”

“Yup.” _Mostly._

“And he turned up in your head.”

“Uh huh.”

Quark’s shaking his head. “That’s so weird.”

“Not really.” _Noisy sometimes, though,_ says Tobin disapprovingly, and Curzon laughs at him, _you’d think a monastery was noisy,_ and Lela shushes them both.

“It’s not, huh?” Quark looks over at her, back to the road; his hand taps the gear shift. “Tell me how dead people in your head aren’t weird.”

She purses her lips, considering. “On one condition.”

“Oh, this is never good.”

“I need food.” _Thunk_ goes the coffee cup into the cup holder; her body wants something altogether different now. Greasy would be good. Salty would be better.

“Didn’t you eat before you left?”

She shrugs. “That was then. This is now.” And Zee usually makes breakfast, and she hadn’t even been up yet when she’d left, and really, was she expected to starve?

He frowns a little. “Jadzia, we’re on the highway. There’s not going to be anywhere to get anything to eat—”

“You telling me there’s nothing in the van?” She’s rummaging in the little mesh bag hanging from the seat.

“I don’t know. It’s Rom’s van.”

“Rom’ll have something stashed away, I just—” Just have to find it; nothing in the little cup holder thing between the seats, the back of the van is empty, but _glove compartment,_ says Tobin sagely, and sure enough, when she pops it open, she’s struck gold.

“Ha!” She tugs out the little plastic bag; it crinkles loudly as she yanks it free.

“What’d you find?”

“Um...” She looks at the front of the bag. “Ooh! Candied tube grubs!” There’s a chorus of _eww_ in her mind, but this one’s all Jadzia, and Jadzia is hungry.

“Really? Give it here.” Without looking, he waves one hand at her, expectantly; she bats it away.

“No way. I’m hungry.” She tears the bag open, snags a handful of grubs, pops them into her mouth and crunches. Mmm, sweet and salty, and Curzon makes a happy noise.

“How the hell do you hate slug juice and like those?” Quark’s bemused.

“These are sweet. I love ‘em.” Her mouth is full.

“Come on, pass me a few.”

“Fine...” She pours some grubs into the cup holder between them. “Good enough?”

“For now. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Rom.” She will, too, later. Which reminds her—

“Why’d you need to bring me with you, anyway?”

“I need your expertise.” Now he’s munching too; his consonants are muffled. “You know tongo.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, fine, tongo, but Quark, this is a business negotiation, right? I’m not even a Ferengi—”

“You _know tongo.”_ Apparently that’s all there is to it.

“You should’ve brought Rom.”

“Rom’s an idiot.”

“Hey. Be nice. He’s sweet.”

“Fine. He’s sweet. And he’s an idiot.”

“Leeta says he’s pretty smart.”

“And if there’s one thing Leeta knows all about, it’s brains.”

“Hey!” She’s actually a little bit offended at that. Leeta’s smart as hell. It’s not her fault she’s also gorgeous, _God yes_ laughs Torias, and Emony is right there with him, and Jadzia frowns at Quark. “Cut it out!”

“Sorry.” But he’s not, not even a little, and she sighs and looks out the window. She does like him. Sometimes he makes it hard to remember why, though.

“Anyway, I thought we were talking about Trills being weird, not my idiot brother.” Wow, yep, sometimes really, really hard to remember; she turns and frowns at him, and he looks over at her, not particularly upset that she’s irritated. Oh, well; gotta take Quark on his own terms. Sometimes she misses the Klingons, _enough to hop into bed with one, apparently,_ grins Curzon, laughing at her, and that makes her giggle.

“We’re not weird.” She’s still giggling as she says it, which probably doesn’t lend her a whole lot of credibility.

“You’re walking around with _dead people_ in your _head_.” He’s emphasizing every word, and it’s funny as hell.

“Everybody does.”

That fetches her a look. “What?”

“Every single person has dead people in their head. Historical figures, or family... all giving advice, passing down proverbs... even Shakespeare is technically a dead person in our heads. Right?”

He pulls his head back a little bit, thinking about that; his hands grip the steering wheel. “Huh.”

“So this isn’t really all that different.”

Another Look, capital L. “Um, yes, it is.”

“How come?”

“Because your dead people are just... people. Not famous people. Just... your dad’s friend.”

“Mom’s friend, actually.”

“Whatever. And you act like they talk to you.”

She shrugs. “Yeah?”

“Look, Shakespeare may be in my head with his wherefore art thou bullshit, but he doesn’t _talk_ to me.”

“Too bad. Wouldn’t it be neat to find out what he has to say?” She grins mischievously; Quark rolls his eyes.

“Who else is in there with you?”

“You want names, or...?”

“Whatever.” He shrugs uncomfortably, poor guy.

“All right. Let’s see: Lela.” _Hello!_ “Audrid.” _Yes, dear._ “Torias.” _What ho!_ “Tobin.” _H... hi._ “Emony.” _Hi!_ “Curzon.” _You called?_ “Um... and Joran, sometimes.” Today, though, there’s only silence.

“Sometimes.”

“Mm.” She’d rather not talk about him. _We agree._

“And...” He’s trying to find words, eyes flickering over the road. “And they all talk to you?”

“Hard to stop ‘em, sometimes.” _But you’d miss us if we were gone,_ laughs Torias, and oh, yes, she would.

“It sounds crazy.” His voice is flat.

“It does, doesn’t it?” She takes a second to think about it, smiles. “Doesn’t stop it from being true, though.”

“So… you just started to hear voices, one day?” Aww, how sweet; he thinks she’s nuts.

“The day I was Joined.”

“The day you were what?”

“Joined. On my twentieth birthday.”

“Joined to what?”

“Not to a _thing,_ it’s…” She eats a few more grubs, thinking, _too hard to explain, dearest,_ offers Audrid, _just cut to what’s important._ “Funny, I should be able to explain this really well, but it’s tough in this language, Trill is better… but Audrid knows all of this cold. When she was alive, she was one of the people who headed up the Symbiosis Commission—”

“The _what?”_ Quark doesn’t sound reassured, and she’s going about this all wrong.

“Um, the Symbiosis Commission, it’s... look. Basically, what you know about Trills is that some of us think we have ghosts in our heads, right?”

“Right.” He’s watching the rear-view; she cranes her neck, looks back. There’s a van way too close.

“What’s he doing? We’re in the right-hand lane!”

“He’s an asshole, just give it a minute – ha. See?” The van swerves out, passes them, an irritated fist briefly visible out the passenger-side window. She and Quark flip him off in unison; _moron!_ shouts Curzon.

“What an altruist.”

“Yep. Anyway, they’re not ghosts.”

“Who aren’t – oh, okay. They’re not?”

“Nope. They’re bodiless souls.”

He flicks a look at her. “I’m not entirely clear on the difference, over here.”

“They can be re-embodied. If they can find a willing host.”

That weirds him out, she can tell. “Yuck.”

“Nope. Not yuck.”

His lip is curled; he reaches down, fishes out a few more grubs, rolls one between his fingers. “Sounds like being possessed or something.” Into his mouth goes the grub, and yerk, there’s a thought. _Be my slaaaave, Jadziaaaaa,_ moans Curzon, and is immediately shh’d by four different people.

“It’s not, though.” How to explain it? _Tell him how it feels, dear, we’ve all been there,_ prompts Lela, and Tobin likes that idea too. “It feels like... like a family inside your head. They talk to you, they give you advice, they make jokes,” _they never shut up,_ Tobin moans, and Curzon snickers, “sometimes they even fight. And they let me share their memories.”

He’s kind of intrigued by that. “How does that work?”

“Um...”

—the parallel bars, and she’s reaching, stretching, in flight—

—slamming up, up, up towards the clouds, then twisting, pulling back, and down he dives, laughing—

—“—kind of man the Speaker thinks he is, I’m not sure, but I know damned well what kind of woman _I_ am,” and the House rises as one, applauding—

—got it, he’s _got_ it, three days of work and finally the damned engine is purring like a kitten, _oh,_ it’s _great_ —

—the bat’leth swings and he swings with it, spinning, slashing, and it clangs against his opponent’s and he’s straining—

—her daughter is laid on her chest, wet and bloody and already dark-freckled, and her eyes are grey and she’s crying, they’re both crying—

— _silence_ —

“...it’s kind of hard to explain. But... I know things. I can do… it sounds funny, but it makes me feel like I can do just about anything.” She’s smiling, and inside her head there’s general approval, _you can/you will/she’ll do, this one_ , and somewhere, at the very back, there’s a snicker that she pretends she doesn’t hear.

“Huh. Well. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. I’m happy for me too.”

He raises his eyebrows at her, sort-of smiles, turns back to the road and fishes for another grub. He’s running low; she grabs the little bag, pours out some more, and his grasping fingers snatch a few from the stream.

“Thanks.”

“No prob.”

There’s quiet, companionable crunching for a few minutes, and that seems about right. This is a lot to load on a person, even if they did kind of poke you into talking about it. She’s happy to relax in her chair, to feel the stretch in her calves as her feet rest on the dash, to wiggle her toes at the world. Coffee suddenly sounds good again, now that she’s not quite as hungry; she reaches with one hand, tugs the cup out, lifts it to her lips. _Eww._ Cold. Oh, well.

“So Trills all have their own little cheering squad in their heads, huh?” _Well, that’s one interpretation_ , says Lela musingly, and Emony is rueful, _felt more like a panel of judges sometimes._

“Not all of us. And it’s not a cheering squad.”

“Whatever.” He’s checking the mirror, but the coast is clear; nobody seems too interested in changing lanes right now.

“No, seriously. It’s hard to be Joined. It’s a privilege.” She grabs up a few more grubs, stuffs them into her mouth, chews, thinking. “You’ve got to be strong, right? Or else it is like being possessed, because somebody else can just… take your body. Just like that. Yoink.” (Behind her brain there’s another quiet laugh, and she doesn’t hear it, she doesn’t.)

“Yoink?”

“Yeah. So you’ve got to be able to keep it in check. And they test you, they need to be sure you can handle it. You’ve got to be smart, you’ve got to prove you want it...” It’s so important that he get this, and she frowns, makes a fist, looks at him, mouth full. “You’ve really gotta have your _shit together.”_

He looks at her, spraying grub bits across the car as she talks, hair in a ponytail, looking schlub as hell on a Saturday morning. “And you do, huh?”

She tilts her head, makes a face; he makes a face back at her, and she grins, leans back in her chair, stares out at the world beyond the windshield. “All right, okay, but you never knew me before I was Joined.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.” She remembers that Jadzia, and it’s almost like another life, weirdly more distant than any borrowed memory. _Still you, dear,_ murmurs Audrid, _don’t forget_. “God, that Jadzia had her shit so together she was _constipated.”_

“That’s disgusting.”

“Thanks.”

Quark’s watching the road again, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “Was she anything like you?”

“She _was_ me. She _is_ me. I’m just...” _Sillier,_ supplies Curzon, _friendlier,_ laughs Lela, _braver,_ snorts Torias, “I’m just a little more open to new experiences, now.” That kind of sums it up. Leaves a lot to be said, though. _Good enough._

Quark sucks on his teeth, which is easily one of the most repulsive sounds in the world; he’s thinking. She doesn’t push; she looks out the window, at the kilometres of nothing rolling away.

“Did the old Jadzia play tongo?”

“She wasn’t legal, Quark.”

He waves that away, rolls his eyes at her, and she grins.

“No. No, she didn’t.”

“Huh.”

And apparently that is that; his mouth is closed, he’s looking kind of thoughtful. Fine. Enough heavy conversation; it’s still too early, and the day’s unrolling ahead of them. She leans forward, pokes at the radio; of course it doesn’t work, and there’s nowhere to plug in her phone. The CD player lights up obligingly, though. CDs it is, then. If there are any.

“You got any music in this thing?”

“Who knows?”

“Oh, boy, let’s find out what Rom likes to listen to—”

Rummaging through the little CD tray is productive, although... huh. _Really?_ sighs Curzon. “Okay. You call it. Barry Manilow or Brat Higrek?”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“Neither. I choose neither.”

“Nope. I want music.”

“The melody of my voice isn’t enough for you?”

“Brat Higrek it is,” and in goes the CD, and from the speakers comes that plaintive wail—

“Oh, I _hate_ Brat Higrek!” Quark’s laughing.

“Poor Brat Higrek. It’s not _his_ fault they wouldn’t stop playing that one song—”

“—for _months_ everywhere I went they were playing Brat Higrek—”

“— _latinum or looooooove—”_

“No, _stop it—”_

“You know all the words, you _know_ you do, come on!”

“Yeah, yeah, how do you even _know_ this song?”

“Curzon couldn’t get away from it either – even in Trill – even in the Klingon _Empire—”_

“Torture, Jadzia, just twist my lobes off—”

“Louder, huh? Okay, you got it.”

They’re rolling along the highway, and she cranks her window down, feels the blast of air, and they’re both singing like the biggest assholes, gesturing along with the lyrics, howling out the bridge, and it’s funny as hell, everybody’s cracking up, even Tobin’s got the giggles.

Quark’s wiping at his eyes, “Fuck, Jadzia, I’m trying to drive,” and she grins at him, laughing.

“You’re the one who wanted me along.”

“What a moron I am.”

“Wait, wait, shut up, this is the best part, now all the other guys come in—”

_“Aaargh—”_

And there’s a whole album of it, a nostalgic disaster/delight, and it kills the next forty-five minutes really, really pleasantly, because if there’s anything more fun than torturing Quark, she’s never heard about it.

* * *

Eventually they pull off the highway, follow a series of smaller and smaller roads until they pull up to a dilapidated warehouse, paint peeling off it, shady as hell. Quark seems to think it’s fine, so she does too.

A little guy in a bright orange head-dress peers out at them pulling up, scuttles out to meet them. He’s all obsequious, hands together, palms open, at least until he sees her step out of the car.

“You brought a _female?”_

She smiles at him. “Hi. My name’s Jadzia.”

Now the guy’s really irritated, turns to Quark, hands waving. “You brought a _female!_ She’s _talking_ to me!”

Quark tilts his head, smiles. “Yeah. She does that. Look, she’s not involved in the Deal.”

Incredulity from the other Ferengi. “Of course she’s not involved in the Deal.” As if Quark’s just suggested his dog might have an opinion on the shitty used tongo table, _calm down,_ says Curzon, _it’s cultural, you know that,_ and she keeps the smile on her face, waits with hands behind her back.

The little guy scowls at her, shrugs, dismisses her from the world. “You’re Quark, yes?”

“That’s what they call me. You’re Vrenk?”

“Charmed.” There’s a double bow, a cupping of hands, all very formal and all over with very quickly; there’s more important shit to do, and Quark’s looking around, eyes moving.

“Where’s the merchandise?”

“Inside, inside,” and Vrenk bows towards the warehouse and slithers away ahead of them; Quark looks up at her, and she shrugs, follows Quark inside.

It’s kind of dusty and dirty in here, lots of assorted crap piled up all over the place. Mostly Ferengi stuff. There’s a pile of ceremonial gongs; over here is a nearly complete rack of abaci ( _ooh!_ whispers Tobin); and in the corner – she nudges Quark, points; he already knows, and nods, and over they go towards the tongo table. Their gracious host is tugging a cover off of it; dust billows into the air, actually kind of pretty in the scarce light that’s seeping through the filthy windows.

“In perfect shape. Almost too pretty to part with.”

“Almost,” says Quark, and his voice is just a touch sarcastic, and the two Ferengi grin at each other.

Suddenly Quark’s all business, striding forward, running his hands over the table. “I need to look at it.”

“But what could there be to look at? It’s all just as I’ve—”

“No look, no Deal.”

“I’ll be outside.” Off he scuttles, and Jadzia looks after him, makes a face. Quark smiles a little, but he’s busy now, he’s _business_ now.

“Jadzia, come and take a look at this.”

“Me?” She’d been about to ask if he wanted her to wait outside, too.

“Yeah. Come here, try out a few spins.” He tugs on the wheel, sets it whirling, stops it with a hand.

“Motion looks good.” What does he want her to do? Tongo doesn’t involve a lot of spinning. The game is in the cards, mostly.

“Just come here and play around with it a little, all right?” He looks up at her, dark-rimmed eyes a little irritated, and she grins.

“That’s what she said.”

“For crying out loud, Jadzia,” but he’s grinning now, and she makes a little bow, moves to the table, tests its motion with a gentle push on the wheel.

“Take a few practice spins. Play some hands, all right?” He pats her shoulder, turns to leave.

“Where’re you going?”

A flash of sharp teeth. “To _negotiate.”_

Ugh. “Have fun.”

“I always do,” a little sing-song in his voice, and he’s off to Deal, and she’s left with a tongo table and no one to play with. _Booo-ring,_ sighs Torias, but Tobin’s curious, _let’s see what makes it tick._

Huh. All right. If it was the first hand, if she had three bars and two offers and a good devaluation to play if someone gave her trouble, it’d be acquire for sure, now over goes to the wheel to... _me, I guess,_ and it pops up **setback,** so now she would plunk down a few strips, gather up another card, not ready to confront yet so it’s evade, and the wheel goes around...

It’s a bit like meditating, which is unexpected, weird and fun. Her mind calms, drifting, following the pattern of the game, and the voices in her head are calm too, watching, learning, _reminds me ofkohltor—_ _shh, she’s concentrating— shut up, the both of you—_ and it becomes almost a mantra, acquire, confront, retreat, deal, evade, acquire, evade, evade...

Huh. She doesn’t usually have to evade quite so much.

_What the...?_

Okay, another hand, and it’s— **setback,** says the wheel, and she’d either have to evade or retreat or forfeit the game, and that’s bullshit, she’s never had a run go quite like this.

 _Something is... yeah, let’s have a look,_ says Tobin, and so she drops to her knees, looks under the table, wishes briefly for Miles’s keychain flashlight. Not an option, _trust your hands,_ says Tobin impatiently, and so she runs her hands up under the table, feeling for something, feeling for—

Huh, this is—

It’s small, she’d never have found it without Tobin having a very good idea where to look. _Easy,_ says Tobin, _it’d have to be here, look at how the wheel is made,_ and Curzon sighs, _you could’ve saved me a lot of money, you know,_ and Tobin’s a bit miffed, _you never asked—_

 _Shut up!_ And there’s slightly offended silence, but she’s got no time for it, she’s concentrating. Her hand tugs at the little box. She can’t get a look at it, but it feels like it’s attached, it’s bracketed here somehow, and it’s – it’s pressing on something, and it—

She pops up for a second, spins the wheel, drops back down and rests her hand on the little box, feels something in it go _spung_ , and the wheel slows down, comes to a rest at... she pops her head up, and yeah, it’s at **setback,** and this is really bullshit for sure, no good.

 _Let’s fix it,_ jitters Tobin, _let’s make it right,_ and it would only take a second, just need a screwdriver or even a dime, but... Jadzia is not quite sure about what to do, here.

She pats the table absently once, twice, thinking, then nods to herself and sets off to find Quark.

She hears the Ferengi before she sees them, bickering happily over by the side of the warehouse in a shady spot. Quark’s gotten his hands on something to drink, courtesy of the charming guy in the orange head-dress, probably, and she wonders briefly about getting some for herself. As she gets closer, though, she can smell it. Slugs. Nope.

“—been in my family for years, honestly, it’s hard to even consider parting with it.”

“And yet here I am.”

“I simply can’t care for it the way Uncle Vurip would have wanted. You understand. I need it to go to someone who’ll _care_ for it the way he did, who’ll treat it with the respect it deserves.”

“It’s a tongo table.”

“A very nice tongo table.”

“Not that nice. Old model.”

“Vintage.”

“Archaic.”

“Retro.”

“Out-dated.”

“Classic design like that never goes out of style.”

“Bah.” Quark waves a hand at him, turns away as if disgusted; the other Ferengi shrugs, slurps his own juice, looks away pointedly. Jadzia stands back, admiring. _It’s a dance,_ laughs Curzon, and Jadzia grins, remembering a few Klingon negotiations Curzon had stepped through very nimbly indeed. _Just gotta know when to snarl and when to smile._

Quark’s eyes widen over his cup as he sees her, and he waves her over, pulls her aside.

“So?”

She lowers her head, speaking for his ears only – tricky, when you were surrounded by Ferengi; especially tricky when you didn’t actually want to whisper into someone’s ear because they’d read it as a come-on. Another kind of dance; inside her mind, Emony’s giggling.

“Something’s up with that table.”

He tilts his head. “Keep talking.”

“Comes up setback way too often. No way should I see setback more than once or twice a round. Right?”

He shrugs. “Luck is a funny thing.”

“Not this funny. Quark, that table’s rigged.”

Now he shoots her a look. “You sure?”

“Positive. I found—”

But he’s got a finger to his lips, brows raised admonishingly. “Shh.”

“What, you worried about pissing him off?”

“I’m worried he’ll raise the price. Nice table like that, already rigged...” He shakes his head, sighs happily. “Today is a good, good day.”

Her mouth has dropped open. She shouldn’t be surprised. She really, really shouldn’t. _He’s great,_ sighs Curzon, _wish I’d known him when..._

“You’re gonna put a rigged table in your bar?”

He grins toothily at her. “Well, it is nice to have a matched set.”

She gasps a laugh, and she shouldn’t be surprised, and she _really_ shouldn’t be delighted.

He laughs too, but he’s watching her, assessing, _will she won’t she_ , and as much fun as it’d be to let him twist in the wind, she takes pity on him. Sort of. “You’re not gonna rig ‘em when I play. Not anymore.”

His brows go up. She waits. It doesn’t take long for him to think that one through, to grin again.

“Hell, if you want...” and his grin is suddenly a leer, “I’ll rig ‘em in your favour...”

Her own return smile is as Ferengi-fierce as she can make it. “I don’t need any favours to kick your ass at tongo, Quark.”

He chuckles. “Oooh, I’m scared.”

“Oooh, you _should_ be.”

Here comes Vrenk, frowning, arms crossed, shaking his head, and they stand shoulder to shoulder – well, sort of – and watch him approach. She catches a particularly snarky look from the guy, smiles at him angelically just to piss him off a little.

“Fine. Fine! You and your _female_ have wasted enough of my time. Forty-five hundred strips, just to get rid of you.”

Quark rolls his eyes as if he’s just been asked to offer up the bug-covered shirt off his back. “And once you’ve taken that, I may as well just sign over my bar to you, because I’ll have _nothing left._ I’ll give you thirty.”

“And I’ll have to explain to my family why I’ve been reduced to begging in the _streets,_ forty-three or nothing!”

Exasperated arm-waving now appears to be in order. “How am I going to explain to my brother that I spent over _four thousand strips_ on a tongo table? He’s a slave-driver, he’ll garnish my wages, won’t you consider thirty-three?”

“My family will _disown_ me at thirty-three, I’d have to feed them on _vegetables,_ forty-two-five—”

This kind of looks like it’s going to go on forever, and as much fun as it is to watch Quark chipping away at the guy, Jadzia’s getting a bit bored. Wandering away would be rude, and while rude is good sometimes ( _cuts through the bullshit,_ nods Torias), it doesn’t seem right here.

Hmm. What would happen... _Worth a try,_ grins Curzon, _why not?_ And Emony wriggles happily, _oh yes, please, let’s—_

Jadzia diffuses, expands, gives her body to Emony, watches in delight as she rolls her shoulders back, cocks a hip, every movement poised and pretty, _isn’t she something?_ grins Torias, and Emony’s mental chuckle is predatory. She throws Quark a look of pure boredom, pouts adorably, opens her mouth and this dippy voice comes out, with Curzon picking the words, “Oh, Quarky, I’m so bored of this... forget this stupid table, forget this guy, let’s go back to your place and have _fun,”_ and Jadzia’s gaping in astonishment as her body wraps itself around Quark, melting against his suddenly tense shoulders, “whaddya say, baby?”

 _Baby_ says, “Uhhh, yeah, _yeah,_ all right, Jadzia,” and now he turns to her, coos at her, “I just can’t say no to those big blue eyes.” This is followed immediately by a dismissive look at the guy he’s been haggling with. “Never mind. Deal’s off. I’m, uh, too busy for this...” and his gaze slides down her body, “I’m _sure_ you understand...”

This last is accompanied by a pointed look and pointed teeth, and Vrenk’s eyes widen. _What an amateur,_ moans Curzon, _obvious tells..._

“Wait! Wait, you’re... you’re leaving?”

“Can you blame me?” Quark’s giving her the slimiest eye she’s ever been given, and only the fact that Emony’s driving keeps Jadzia from cracking up. “Come on, my little latinum strip...”

“Oooh, Quarky, you say the _sweetest_ things—”

“But – but wait! If you go, I’ll sell this table to someone else! Another buyer!”

“Go ahead,” and Quark waves lazily over his shoulder, his other arm wrapped snugly around her waist, “I’m sure they’re lining up for it...”

“They _are!_ They’re – I’ve got two buyers from Bajor waiting on this, but I made them wait – you’ll regret this—”

“Yeah, yeah,” and Quark’s helping her up into the van, finishing off with a pat on the butt that he’s gonna owe her for later. “Good luck with that...”

 _“Ruleone-forty-nine!”_ He’s almost screeching, now; it’s fucking hysterical, and everybody’s hooting, including Jadzia. Emony has to hush them so she can keep a straight face.

Quark chuckles to himself, almost patronizingly, cranks down the window and leans out. His voice is gentle, amused. “Vrenk, Vrenk... two-twenty-nine...” And he slams down the accelerator, and they peel out of the driveway with a screech and flare of dust, and it’s the most fun she’s had in a while, this is fucking _great._ Emony slips back down, high-fiving her in passing, and she cackles, raises her fists and hoots in victory. Quark’s cracking up next to her.

“’But Quaaaark, I’m not even a Ferengiiiiii—’”

“I’m a natural, all right?”

He’s shaking his head in disbelief. “Who would’ve thought... a female, a Trill female...”

“Hey. Enough _female_ crap. You brought me along.”

“Yes, I did, may my latinum always jingle, best decision I’ve made all quarter.”

She grins out the window, victorious over the world. “How long do you figure before he calls you?”

“Ten minutes, tops. Quoting rules at me, what an altruistic little _tax-collector.”_

“Hey! Language!” She punches him in the shoulder; he reels as if pummelled, laughing.

“Take it easy!”

“Guy, you patted my ass, you owe me.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve got women lining up to have me pat their asses.”

A prolonged, really rude noise seems like the best way of responding to that, and Quark mock-bows, grinning over the steering wheel. He looks over at her appraisingly, and she has to admit that nobody can appraise quite like Quark can. _Ew, stop it;_ that’s Emony, and she’s right.

“So, how’d a sweet little Trill female like you get to be such a clever _negotiator?”_ That last word seems to be carrying a little extra weight than it should, _hmm, we’ll look it up later,_ notes Curzon.

“Not just me. I had help.”

“Who— Oh. Ghosts again?”

“Emony and Curzon, to be specific.”

“Huh. They big on Ferengi custom?”

“Nah, but Emony knew how to use her body and Curzon negotiated with Klingons, so they make a pretty convincing combination.” _We could’ve ruled the world,_ sighs Emony; Curzon consoles her, _next time, dear_.

“You’re telling me. My lobes are tingling.”

“Thanks... I think.”

“Oh, no, thank _you.”_ He smiles over at her predatorily, and she outright laughs at him.

“Okay. I ‘fessed up. Now it’s your turn.”

“What, is this another Deal?”

“Sure. Fair is fair.”

“Rule two-thirty-two—”

“’Life’s not fair,’ yeah, I know.”

“You do, huh?” Again she’s being appraised; again she grins at him.

“It’s a simple question. It’s a Ferengi question.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“That fabric head-dress that some Ferengi guys wear—”

“The grib?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

He nods; she files it away, _wonder what it means,_ muses Curzon, and she has a feeling she’s going to feel awfully interested in Ferengi language study tonight, whether she wants to be or not.

“Okay, the grib. How come you don’t wear it?”

“Ah...” That makes him grin. “The grib’s kind of a funny thing.”

“Yeah?”

He smiles out at the road, at the dust they’re kicking up, at the scrubland around them. “Okay. So you may have noticed that my brother and I are a little light on hair.”

She’s all innocence. “You don’t say!”

He ignores her. “And you probably noticed that our buddy Vrenk back there is pretty much the same, and the Ferengi that come through town aren’t usually the hairiest guys around...”

“So...?”

“In our language, we have words for each part of the head, each section of scalp. And you have no idea how weird it is that nobody else does.”

“We have hair over all of it. Most of us, anyway.”

“And that’s even weirder, and why you don’t shave is beyond me – no offense... anyway, the grib is to cover the back of the head and neck. What we call the vulp.”

“How come?”

“Well, between you and me,” and he beckons her closer; she leans in obligingly, and he whispers as he drives, “an exposed vulp drives the females crazy...”

She chokes. She can’t help it. “You’re serious.”

He nods, pushing down a smile. “May I invest poorly.”

“So you wear the grib because...”

“Don’t wanna tempt any females into liaisons their families can’t afford. It’s a moral thing, mostly.”

She rolls her eyes. So do Lela, Audrid, and Emony.

“Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

“Or follow them?”

“Jadzia...” He tsks at her, runs a hand up the back of his neck. “It’d be a crime to hide a vulp this sexy.”

“Whatever—” She tosses a grub at him, and he flinches, bats at her.

“Hey, I’m driving—”

Lucky for him that his phone goes off, _“Come to Quark’s, Quark’s is fun—”_

She stares at it. “You are shitting me. That is your ringtone?”

He snatches the phone up. “Hey, I paid good money for that campaign... Quark speaking. Uh huh. You don’t say,” and he looks over at her, nods meaningfully, “well, she _is_ all over me, there’ll have to be a surcharge for my wasted time... yeah... all right. Fine. I’ll be right there. Have it ready.” He clicks the phone off decisively and smiles like a shark, and she can feel her own teeth growing points.

“Back we go?”

“Mmm.” He signals, pulls to the side—

“Are you seriously going to make a three-point-turn on a deserted road in the middle of the desert?”

“It’s safer.”

“For God’s sake, Quark—”

“I’m driving—”

“No! Get out! You patted my ass, you owe me!”

He looks at her, and she’s serious as hell, and it’s not two minutes later that they’re ripping down the road, both Jadzia and Torias shrieking twin _yeeee-haaaaas,_ and Quark cowering with his hands over his head in the passenger seat, doing penance.

* * *

The table’s there just as Quark had ordered, dust cover on it, sitting on a little trolley thing; a bunch of guys appear at a snap of Vrenk’s fingers and jockey the works up into the back of the cargo van. Quark supervises, barking orders, striding to and fro. Jadzia leans up against the wall of the warehouse, not really paying attention, enjoying the heat of the day, the turquoise sky.

Vrenk, nearby, is watching her. She looks right back at him, not smiling, not frowning, just looking back. He drops his gaze. _They’re never sure how to handle that,_ muses Emony, _because it’s intimidating as hell,_ sighs Torias, _that’s the point,_ nods Lela, and Jadzia agrees.

The table’s mostly tucked away now, and apparently Quark has gotten Vrenk to throw in some extra stuff, because that looks like one of those gongs going in there now, and... huh. Is that a... _can’t be,_ gasps Audrid, _definitely is,_ grins Curzon, oh my God, Quark is going to put a giant statue of a horga’hn in his bar...? She claps a hand over her mouth to stifle herself. Benjamin is going to die laughing when she tells him.

She pushes away from the wall, brushes paint chips and wood bits off the seat of her jeans, and as she stretches her back, preparing for another long car ride, she catches Vrenk looking again. This time he gets the double eyebrow.

He frowns at her. “I don’t usually talk to females.”

She smiles at him. “What a pity.”

“I need you to answer a question for me.”

She tilts her head, says nothing at all; Vrenk looks a little unnerved, but he steps closer, looks up at her, lowers his voice.

“What is it about him that attracts you? What does he have that you want?” And he’s trying to sound tough and in-command, and meanwhile he’s totally perplexed, and it’s really funny. She’s gotta play it straight, though.

She leans down, he leans in, and she whispers breathily, “I just can’t control myself around a guy with a vulp like that…”

A hiss of breath. “Salacious female!”

“You asked,” and she winks at him, turns on her toe and strides away, making sure to throw a little extra wiggle in her walk. Emony’s so proud she could spit. Curzon can’t stop laughing.

Quark’s just testing the back doors of the cargo van as she walks up, making sure they’re locked good and tight. He looks up at her. “Ready to go?”

“I think we’re done here.”

Quark nods at her, and they head to the front of the van, crack their doors, hoist themselves in. She’s in the passenger’s seat again, no thanks to Torias. Quark and Vrenk do a little last-minute haggling through the driver’s side window, and then they’re cruising away from Vrenk and his buddies, richer by one tongo table plus assorted crap. That’s a good day’s work, if she does say so herself, and she does, all of her.

Hmm. Rule one-sixty-six kind of seems to apply. ( _How does she remember all this,_ wonders Audrid, _because it’s interesting!_ says Tobin.)

She grabs the little plastic bag of grubs, pokes around in it, finds a couple of grubs left over in a corner. They’re crunchy, and meanwhile she thinks, and when she speaks her voice is cool and calm.

“So you two settled on... what, thirty-seven hundred strips?”

“Yep.” Quark’s happy.

“Huh. Nice. And you expected to pay more than that, I’m sure.”

He shrugs. “I had forty-five available. Sure as hell wasn’t gonna spend all of it.”

“So you’ve got eight hundred strips left to play with. That’s pretty good.”

“Sure is.”

“So that makes my cut about... what, forty?”

His eyes just about pop out of his head, and the van swerves.

“Your _what?”_

“My cut. My take. My share. You know.”

Now he’s laughing, astonished by her naiveté. “Jadzia, Jadzia... how the hell do you figure you get a cut?”

“Well, let’s see. First of all, I tested your table.”

“Didn’t need testing, worked fine—”

“Second, I found the doohickey that rigs it—”

“I knew it was rigged, I didn’t need proof—”

“Third, I assisted with your negotiations—”

“You acted like a crazy person, could’ve made things worse!”

“Fourth, I entertained you all the way here, and I’m probably gonna have to do it all the way back, too—”

“Entertained me? Drove me _nuts,_ more like—”

“Fifth, you _patted my ass—”_

“Um. Yeah. Okay. But—”

“And, _and,_ sixth and final, listen up, are you listening?”

He looks at her, gestures at his lobes, and he’s irritated, but he’s smiling.

“Here’s the important one: I’m not going to tell anybody that you rig your tables.”

He blinks at her. She smiles back, gaze serene.

“Forty strips is a lot of latinum.”

“Your tables take in at least ten times that on the average night. But if Odo found out that some of your tables were acting kind of funny...”

“Jadzia...” It’s more of a whine than anything else, _got his lobes in the vise now!_ grins Lela, _squeeze ‘em tight!_

“How much latinum do you think you’d lose, let’s just say, if your bar got closed for... um, ten days due to gambling violations?”

Another moan. Sounds like this really hurts.

“Might even be longer, you know… Odo’s really got it in for you… and I’m sure he might take the opportunity to have a really good look around your bar while they’re taking your tables away… who knows what else he might find—”

“Okay, _okay,_ all _right,_ forty strips,” and he’s pounding on the steering wheel, voice agonized. “God, I take you out, I show you a good time, and this is how you repay me.”

She pats him on the shoulder, not unkindly. “Sorry, Quark. If it makes you feel any better, I learned it all from you.”

“Aaargh.” But he’s starting to smile again. “Jadzia Dax, you are a kick in the lobes, do you know that?”

“That’s the nicest thing anybody’s said to me all day.”

“You and your crazy ghosts.”

“Me and my super helpful ghosts.” _That’s us,_ laughs Lela, and Curzon starts humming the _Ghostbusters_ theme, and oh, God, that’s going to be in her head all day now.

“Emony and... who? Curzon?”

“Yep. Tobin, too.”

“Huh. Which one’s he?”

“Engineer. Liked Vulcans.” _Practically was one,_ says Torias, and Tobin, miffed, says _hey!_

“And Curzon liked Klingons...”

“Mm-hmm. He was hell with a bat’leth.”

“Okay. So who the hell likes Ferengi so much?”

“Ah.” She grins. “That’d be Jadzia.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “Seven people rattling around in there, and you’re the only one with any taste.”

“Aren’t you lucky I’m the one you met?”

“Lucky. Huh. Not sure that’s the word I’d choose.”

“Oh, you love me, Quark, you know it—”

Down the road they go, driving into the beautiful day. It’s five more minutes to the highway, then forty five minutes to the city, then fifteen minutes to home, and what the hell, she’s decided that the first thing that forty strips is gonna buy is one hell of a celebratory breakfast for the two of them. She’s not quite sure what she’s going to spend the rest on, yet. Whatever it is, it’s going to be ridiculous.

 _Don’t you wanna store it all away?_ teases Curzon. _Like a true Ferengi?_

 _I’m not a Ferengi,_ answers Jadzia. _I’m a Trill._

Most of her seems to like that answer just fine, so it’ll have to do.

 


End file.
